


Clean Break

by the1crazycatlady



Series: Love of My Un-Death [6]
Category: Dracula & Related Fandoms, Dracula: Entre l'amour et la mort - Leclerc/Tabra/Ouzounian & Pelletier
Genre: Anger, Blood and Gore, Brothers, Death, F/F, Fear, Homophobic Language, Hostile, Hunted Vampires, Kidnapped, Lesbian Vampires, M/M, Minor Character Death, Original Character Death(s), Polyamory, Regret, Souled Vampire(s), Trans Character, Trans Male Character, Transphobic Behavior, Vampire Hunters, Vampire Sex, Vampire Turning, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-28 05:54:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,165
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6317203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the1crazycatlady/pseuds/the1crazycatlady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dracula and Renfield have a problem: two vampiresses have marched in and are living with them.</p><p>This is a problem.</p><p>(Part 6/7)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**_June 29th, 2050_ **

The eventual plan was to have Renfield tell the others that he was all fine and that everything was finally all right - the vampires were all destroyed, the next blue moon was coming up, whatever satisfied them enough to believe him. During this time, Dracula, Lurlene and Maeva would board a ship and go back to Wallachia; any and all contact with Renfield would be severed indefinitely.

Dracula bit back his growing feelings over the dynamics of the plan. It was kill them or assure them, he reminded himself – Renfield didn't want to do the former, so Dracula convinced the vampiresses to do the latter.

In the long run, it would be better this way. This dealt with the issue of what Renfield wanted versus what Dracula wanted. It would be a clean break, then they'd slowly forget about each other and go about their rest of their days without a second thought. Dracula wouldn't have to worry about Renfield going back to the drugs because there was that therapist and the others to keep him away, to make him happy; he would reconcile with Lucy and them Dracula was sure that things would be better. And, even better, Renfield wouldn't have to worry about Dracula because who worries about vampires?

Clean break. Then it was done.

They hardly spoke now; Dracula was too busy watching Maeva and Lurlene - he didn't want anything to happen to Renfield, not under his watch.

The women swore that they'd stay away. The Count had known both of them for at least one hundred years, and they had always been loyal to him. However, Renfield was so _deliciously_ rosy-cheeked and asleep most of the time, not to mention smelling much less contaminated, so the Count just simply didn't trust them.

He wanted Renfield to stay at a hotel until they were gone. But to this, Renfield replied: “You are not going to kick me out of _my own flat,"_ and that was the end of that.

Renfield was being foolish.

Dracula kept his thoughts to himself.

\+ + +

The woman had gorgeous, long red hair pulled back with a fishbone hairpiece. Her eyes were chocolate brown and soft as honey and her hollow cheekbones made her look almost skeletal.

“Mm, that is very interesting, Vlad.” Her voice was even softer than her eyes, and the way she spoke sounded degrading, despite the fact that she was using every bit of passion available in her lean body.

Dracula bought her another drink and she smiled patronizingly; “Those are very pretty rings.” She pointed at his fingers as he twirled them over her drink.

“Thank you, my dear.” He rolled the r and she batted her eyes - she suddenly looked like Renfield did when he was high and Dracula felt himself beam.

He blinked, then pointed at the ring on his pinky finger. “This one is over five centuries old,” he explained, pulling it off so she could look at it better. “The dragon is the symbol of the Dracul order.”

“Like the vampire?” she wondered, putting on the ring and smiling at how big it was on the thin sticks known to most as her fingers.

He held back a grin. “Yes.” He held out his hand and she put the ring down on his palm; he slid it back where it belonged, then gestured to the more elaborate one, the dragon's claw.

“My father's side of the family was in the Dracul order,” he continued; “Dracul means 'dragon' – hence the claw.”

She nodded slowly and smiled patronizingly again. “How very interesting.”

He smirked. “I am glad to hear you say so. 'Tis not everyone who can find ancient Wallachian symbols as 'interesting' as you seem to.”

“Well, mostly it was the jewelry aspect that interested me,” she admitted. “However, the history part was just as interesting.”

 _This woman needs more "interesting" synonyms,_  Dracula thought to himself. He cringed.

“I love to hear about the stories behind people's accessories,” the woman continued. “There are always stories, you know, even if they're small ones.”

“Of that I am sure.”

He glanced over her shoulder and saw Lurlene and Maeva accosting a young couple; he turned back to the redheaded woman.

“Do you have any other mysterious tales of old Wallachia?” she asked, leaning in closer. She breathed on his neck, batting her lazy eyes up at him and waiting. He smiled and leaned forward.

“None seem to come to mind currently,” he whispered.

She glanced around and smiled, pecking him on the cheek. “My car's packed out back... Maybe some will come in a more quiet setting.”

“Perhaps,” Dracula agreed. She smiled again and stood up, grabbing his arm. He rose and she pulled him away.


	2. Chapter 2

**_Continued, Same Night_ **

And so it started again. He was on the ship and it began sinking. The beggars waited for him with their daggers and their syringes and he was slowly tortured. He groaned quietly to himself, tasting the heroin on his tongue and fighting back a scream.

Then two people pushed the others away. This was new; they shoved him onto the ground and climbed on top of him, caressing the side of his face and tittering.

“You?” he gasped, reaching out for a foggy blonde image. _Lucy?_  No?  _Her?_ There was a chuckle and then the two women's voices whispered to each other.

“Us,” said a voice. He moaned and they kissed him.

“Does he even know?” the same voice asked quietly.

“I doubt it," the other replied, "considering what we put in his dinner.”

“Good – that will make things easier.” Giggling ensued.

“But where's the fun in that, right?”

“Shh, Lurlene.” Lurlene? She must have said Lucy. That or her name was Lurlene – Renfield groaned again. _Where have I heard that name before?_

“Master won't be so mad if it's not violent,” the voice from before added. Then lips put themselves on his wrists and something slid itself off of Renfield's body. His eyes fluttered open and he vaguely saw two female forms hovering over him. Hair tickled at his bare throat and cold fingers reached under his shirt.

“Whah...” he muttered. One of the figures bent down and overwhelmed his mouth. He gasped and the figure sucked his breath away. He reached out and felt a form crushing him; he pushed on it, but there was no effect.

The other person reached back under his shirt. Horrible images of the scars on his breasts made Renfield whimper and push harder. The kiss became harder as a result; a tongue ran along his teeth and he couldn't breathe.

“I think he's starting to wake up, Mae.”

"Damn addict, why couldn't he have eaten more..."

The weight pulled away from his mouth and Renfield spluttered, wiping his lips on the back of his hand and trying to sit up. But he was held back and his shirt was pulled up to reveal his stomach. The lower buttons were breaking apart; the figures huddled around him.

“What should we do?”

Something grabbed his shirt. Something ripped.

“Let's get it over with,” a voice hissed. It grabbed his jaw and yanked his head off to the side. Renfield cried out and then something licked his neck, breathing into his ear. Then there were sharp pains above his jugular vein and on one of his wrists. He screamed and clawed at thin air.

“The daggers!” he shrieked. “The daggers!"

It had never been so terrible when he'd stuck the needles in his arm. It was only a terrible pain and then the pressure for less than a minute. Only thirty seconds at most – this pain wasn't stopping. It just kept _going_ and _going_ without pause. His toes went numb, then his fingers. His lips caved in on themselves. The world was so hot and he was so wet all of a sudden, so dizzy and confused.

There was only one small break, and that was for the figures to embrace themselves and lock lips momentarily before giggling and brushing their fingers under the other's eyes and then getting back to him. Something dripped down on landed on his upper lip, and he felt it slide into his mouth. His eyes pricked and stung and then his face went wet.

The world swam. There was a wet stickiness between his legs and on his inner elbow and coming out of his mouth. It tasted salty and disgusting. What was happening to him? Why were they doing this to him? Her? Lucy?

His heart began to beat faster and his breathing grew unstable. He tried to escape, to get Dracula from the next room so he could go back to the hospital, but that made the pains worse. He chose to simply lay still and feel himself drown in blankets and a sticky, salty, bitter liquid.

Then something changed at some point. He wasn't sure when or what, though. There was the sense of a predatory scream and then the weight being removed from one side of him...the side where he was bleeding out the arm... What was that side called again? All he could remember right then were French pronouns from high school. _Je...tu...il/elle/on..._

Someone said something. Something about you being a fool and him being a pathetic, free meal, Deli was gone, we don't care, would you like some? Then there was another roar and a more feminine scream. Something tearing and something cracking and something splattering all over Renfield's face. He coughed, swallowing the saltiness.

The other weight hissed. Suddenly, it vanished. But then yet another weight came down on the pull-out bed and Renfield blinked at it. The figure was trying to catch a shadow on the ceiling. Such a silly thing to do – why bother? It was just a shadow, and the shadows were always going to haunt Renfield. _Leave her alone, let her be._

Strangely, the figure managed to catch the shadow. How did it do that? No matter – it caught it and tore it in two. Ouch. Was that Lucy or her? Both? Was it even _either_ of them? Renfield didn't know.

He tried to form some words: “Who are you? What are you doing?” However, it came out more as, “Hooatoo? Warvoodoowag?” Dammit, why wouldn't the world stop moving? Was there an earthquake? If there was, then why was this mysterious figure jumping off the bed and collecting giant blobs off the floor? If there _was_ an earthquake, then the person'd be getting themself to safety like any sane thing would.

Renfield decided that there wasn't an earthquake and that the problem was him. He needed a glass of water or something, then maybe one of those sleeping pills Dr. Seward gave him. A good night's rest would do him good, hangover be damned.

The world blacked out for a moment and his head crashed in on itself, but he sat up anyway; something held him back.

“Wuh?” Renfield turned his head around and saw the figure hovering beside him. The world was fading in and out of focus, but he could see that it was all red and orangey-brown with a sort of a black top. The person reached out and slowly pulled him back, then turned his jaw off to the side. It touched his neck and Renfield shrieked, trying to shove it away.

“...enfield! It's me.” It put its hands on his chest, over the heart. “..ad...”

Renfield blinked at the form and it reached up, brushing some of the black top away.

“Vlah?” The world became clearer and the figure developed facial features frozen into an anxious expression.

Dracula trembled. “Y-Yes. Oh, beloved Renfield, I....I am so sorry this-this-this...happened...”

“Que? Whah hap?”

But Dracula just shook his head and looked away. Then he jerked a little bit and leaned forward, putting a hand between Renfield's legs; Renfield squirmed, blinking and trying to focus. Dracula pulled his hand away, fingers red, and looked down at Renfield. The world around the Count was spinning again and Renfield groaned.

Dracula whispered something, then put his arms around Renfield. The Count was so cold and hard, and he was sticky to the touch; Renfield's head throbbed and he closed his eyes.

“...field?” Dracula asked. “Renfield! ...ohnt go! Not now!” He flicked at Renfield's shoulder, pressing a sticky hand to his neck and refusing to let go.

“Stop,” Renfield muttered, putting a shaking hand on top of the Count's. “Hurts.”

“It shall only hurt more, my beloved.”

“Why?” Renfield coughed and gagged on something coming up in his throat. It was horrible. He went cold, then sizzling hot in the snap of a finger. He pulled away from Dracula and gagged again, coughing up what looked and tasted like blood.

Dracula pulled him back, squeezing tight. “You are going to die, Renfield.”

Renfield didn't say anything to that, just closed his eyes and tried to focus. When he eventually gave up, his chest ached and it was nearly impossible to breathe.

“Vlad,” he hacked.

Dracula shushed him. “I shall not leave you, beloved.”

He could toss Renfield off the building for all the man cared. “Ishit going to be painful?”

Dracula kissed his forehead. “I shan't lie to you this time – yes. It will be painful.”

Renfield's face went wet again and he begged for the Count to kill him. He didn't want to live anymore and he didn't want to die in pain. “Kill me, please.”

“I cannot,” Dracula whispered. “I wish I could, but I just _can't.”_ He tilted Renfield's chin up. “I want you to be with me afterwards, beloved, and you need to suffer before that can happen.”

Renfield reached up to claw at the side of Dracula's face, but he barely touched the surface of the vampire's skin.

“Fuck you," he muttered. "You selfish bastard...”

Dracula kissed him again. “Forgive me for it, Renfield.”


	3. Chapter 3

**_June 30th, 2050_ **

Renfield convulsed and squeezed his eyes shut; he felt Dracula put his hands on his waist and shoved him away angrily. Renfield felt something in his throat and hovered over the toilet, then threw up again. He was sobbing and an absolute mess, with his hair sticking up in all directions and clinging to the mix of sweat and dried blood on his face. Dracula put a hand on his back.

“I don't want this,” Renfield muttered, pushing the Count away again. “Why didn't you kill me?”

“Renfield, it will get better in time. It shall not hurt later-"

“I don't want later!” Renfield turned to face him, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand. Dracula was looking at him like a lost puppy and Renfield hated it.

“When you die," he hissed, "you're supposed to _be dead_. Go meet God or Satan or Lord knows what. You aren't supposed to feed off the living and...and... _this_...” He looked back into the toilet and cringed.

Dracula stared at him, eyes narrowed. Then he stood up. “I did not make this happen to you.”

Renfield pulled himself to his feet and glared. “But you could have prevented it.”

“I tried my best,” Dracula protested. Then he turned and pushed the bathroom door open. “And... Then I did not want you to go.” He stepped out of the room and paused, looking back over his shoulder. “I still do not want you to go.”

“Doesn't _my_ opinion count, though?” Renfield walked forward and slammed the door shut behind him. “I'd rather be completely dead than like this. My entire _life_ is gone because of your vampire women, and you expect me to sit down and just _accept_  that?” He forced his hands into his pockets and bit his lip; his teeth hurt.

Dracula huffed and reached over for his cane on the bar. “At some point, yes, but not right away.” He picked up his cane, but Renfield came forward and slammed his hand down on top of the Count's, glowering.

“Do you even realize all I've lost because of this?” he snapped. “My entire life is gone."

“Not necessarily.” Dracula's voice was as smooth as honey - it was infuriating.

“Yes, it is!” Renfield yanked the cane out of the Count's grasp and threw it down; it made a loud crashing sound and Dracula recoiled, muttering something in Romanian.

Renfield glared at him. “Do you expect Johnathon to want me as his photographer now? He knows _you're_ a vampire and probably suspects that you've bloody killed me already!”

Dracula tightened his hands into fists and twitched. “He is not your 'entire life', as you so quaintly put it.”

“Shut up,” Renfield spat.

“I _beg_ your pardon?”

“I said shut up.”

“I do not deserve that, Renfield.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“I am trying to help!” Dracula protested. “Or would you rather I leave you alone so you can try and learn things without help from anyone?” His voice cracked. “Not a friend, aide, or-or God?”

Renfield shoved him away, turning his back on the Count. “You're trying to make me feel guilty," he mumbled. "Because this happened to you and you were all alone when you dealt with it five centuries ago, and now I'm supposed to apologize and accept your help. Well, it's not going to work.”

Dracula hissed at him and Renfield spat for a response.

“At least _I_ stopped lying to you,” the Count remarked, bending down and picking up his cane. He turned it over in his hands, checking for scratches or God knows what.

Renfield looked back at him. “What?” He shook his head.

Dracula sighed and stood up. “Were you _ever_ going to tell me that you are a woman?”

Renfield face froze into a look of shock and dismay. He watched as Dracula fumed at at him, then swung his cane over one shoulder, brushed his hair out of his face, and stepped around Renfield; he walked over to the door. Renfield turned, watching him, and felt himself sink quietly onto the floor.

“I'm not,” Renfield muttered, voice catching delicately on the “not.” Dracula sighed, shaking his head; Renfield wanted to sink away and turn to dust.

“I have seen many people bleed to death, Renfield,” Dracula explained, “and for women, blood tends to come unexpectedly out of the vagina.” He rubbed his fingers together, then crossed his arms across his chest and waited. His face was too stern.

Renfield picked mindlessly at his blood-stained pajamas, staring at the ground. There was a long silence, then he mumbled: “I'm-I'm trans.”

“What?” Dracula leaned back against the door and began boring his stare into Renfield's soul.

_Stop._

_No._

Renfield took a deep breath, swallowed, then pulled his head up. In a louder tone, he said: “I'm trans. Gender. My, um, my gen-gender doesn't, like, I don't know, match up with my-my-my sex? Fuck, I-”

“What?” Dracula repeated. “Renfield, you are not making sense.”

Renfield jumped up to his feet. “You aren't listening!”

“I am listening," Dracula replied in a cold tone, "but you are being confusing.”

“This is why I didn't want to tell you!” Renfield shouted. “You're so old, you can't underst-stand!”

Dracula drew in a harsh breath, seething. “Of all the impudent- You _lied_ to me!”

“I never lied to you.”

“I have been under the conception that you are male-”

“I am!” Renfield cried.

“With a vagina?”

Renfield rolled his eyes, huffing. He heard Seward's voice in his head, urging him on, while there was the quiet whir of a tape recorder in the background.

“Y-Yes,” he muttered.

Dracula frowned, playing with the zipper of his jacket. “You are a masculine woman?”

“No!”

“Renfield, please forgive me, but I do not understand.”

He needed to. He needed to, he needed to,  _heneededto._

Renfield rubbed at his inner elbow, then scratched his lower forearm and shook his head. He needed to explain - but he suddenly felt so tired and upset. He'd do it another time.

Renfield stepped over to the Count and leaned against the wall next to him.

“Vlad,” he said softly. “I'm begging you – please just accept this. You don't have to understand right now, just accept it. Please.”

Dracula sighed. “Renfield, belov-”

“Stop.” Renfield turned away and put a hand over his eyes. “Just stop.” Then he sighed. “Vlad, please. I'm n-not a woman, and I want you to treat me that way. _Please._ Noth-Nothing's changed.”

Dracula looked over at him and then turned away, running a hand under his right eye.

"Nothing's changed," he whispered sadly.

Renfield nodded. "Nothing's changed."

"I wish things were different," the Count remarked. "I wish Fate weren't so cruel - I would rather have liked to have had children."

Renfield scooted away, tightening his legs together. "It would never have happened, Vlad," he mumbled.

Dracula didn't say anything to that and there was a silence for a while. Then Renfield spoke up.

“So...will you?" he wondered. Hesitation. Then: "For me?”

Dracula glanced over at him and sighed. His eyes were red, but he nodded slowly.

"I do not understand, Renfield," he murmured, "but yes. For you, anything." He blinked and shook his head, turning and leaning over towards Renfield.

“Really?” Renfield breathed out laughter. “You-You mean that?”

“Of course I do.” Dracula suddenly reached out and grabbed Renfield's jaw, trailing his fingers on his lips and drawing in close. Renfield's eyes widened and he stood there in surprise for a moment, then began to kiss back.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Violence TW.

**_July 2nd, 2050_ **

“Don't pick at it,” Dracula muttered, elbowing Renfield in the ribs. Renfield sighed and pulled his hands away from the scarf tied around his neck; he tapped them against his thigh, but still felt confined and tight. He began to pick at the scarf again.

Dracula sighed and slid his arm around Renfield, pinning the other man's arms down. “Leave it alone, Renfield; we shall find a choker for you soon.”

They were out on the street, by a lamppost, waiting to find a victim so Renfield could practice killing someone. However, it seemed as though everyone was out with somebody or other that night, and Renfield wasn't skilled enough yet for them to take on more than one person.

Renfield sighed and rubbed against his mouth; Dracula leaned into him, humming something to himself. He whispered words in a language Renfield didn't understand.

“Vlad?”

“Yes, beloved?”

Renfield rolled his eyes; “What are you humming?”

“ 'Tis an old Ukrainian wedding hymn,” Dracula replied. “Elhemina and I sang it together after I arranged for...for our wedding to be moved ahead.” He sighed and rested his head on Renfield's shoulder.

“ 'Tis a peaceful song.”

Just then, a man walked by them. He had on snazzy denim jeans and a handsome face – Dracula perked up, sliding his hand down and resting it on Renfield's hip.

The man paused and looked over at them, scoffing. “Faggots,” he spat.

Renfield narrowed his eyes and prepared to leave it all at that – Lord knows that he was used to derogatory things being directed in his direction – but Dracula had other ideas. The Count hissed and stepped away from Renfield, storming over to the man.

 _“Excuse_ me?” he asked in a harsh voice. “What was it you just said to us?”

“You heard me, homo,” the man replied coolly; Dracula drew in a breath.

“Are you insulting me?”

“No,” the man said, “ just stating the obvious.”

“And what didst we do to thou to deserve such foul jargon coming forth from thine wretched tongue, knave?” Dracula wondered.

The man looked at him like he was crazy. “What the fuck did you _say?”_

“You heard precisely what I said – however, perhaps you are so idiotic that you did not grasp mine words.”

In all honesty, Renfield himself barely “grasped” Dracula's words, but he kept quiet and stepped forward, tugging on the Count's arm. “Vlad, we should-”

He was cut off by the man pulling out a switchblade from a hidden pocket. The long, thin blade caught the light coming from the lamppost and Renfield drew in a breath, swearing to himself and tugging harder on Dracula's arm.

“Listen, you,” the man warned; “if another word comes out of that mouth of yours-”

“What?” Dracula asked, quirking an eyebrow. “Are you deaf _and_ dumb? What?”

The man's eyes flashed fire and he lunged forward – Renfield shrieked, letting go of the Count's arm and recoiling back. Dracula calmly raised a hand and the blade cut straight through it, staining red and sliding out the back. Renfield's eyes widened. Just then, the scent of blood wafted through the air and Renfield moaned. He came back forward even though he knew full well how stupid of an idea that was; Dracula shoved him back, smearing blood on his coat. Renfield picked up the bloodstained part and began to suck on it, reveling in the taste and cringing at the feeling of his teeth curling in on each other.

The man made a face at him. “What the hell?” he swore; Dracula reached out with his wounded hand and grabbed his wrist. The man whirled his gaze back to the Count and kneed him in the groin. Dracula winced and hissed, lunging forward. They fell back.

The blood on the coat now gone, Renfield looked up, itching to crawl forward and lick the blood up from the pavement. The red crimson shimmered in the lamplight and the smells pounded against his nostrils – good god, how had Dracula learned to keep these urges in check? They were so powerful-

The man nicked Dracula's shoulder with the blade and Dracula snarled; the man cried out, dropping the switchblade in surprise. He had seen the teeth, Renfield concluded, reaching forward for the weapon and bringing it up to his mouth. But the blade cut his tongue and he dropped it, crying out and clutching his mouth with two hands.

There was a scream and Renfield looked over in time to see Dracula pinning the man to the ground, one hand pulling at his hair and the other on his shoulder. Then he just tore the man's head right off.

Renfield gagged, letting go of his mouth. He bled on the pavement, struggling to swallow the blood but only choking as a result. He hacked, staring at the Count in disbelief.

Blood had gone everywhere, spraying up onto Dracula's face and all over his clothes and up and down the sidewalk. The Count looked down at the head – it was permanently screaming – then snarled and threw it off into the distance. He stood up and looked down at the body. He growled, spat, then came over to Renfield.

Renfield wiped his mouth on the back of his hand and regarded Dracula out of the corner of his eye. Then he looked at the body and finally at the puddle of blood in front of him. He groaned, bending down and running his wounded tongue along the concrete.

Dracula grabbed his shoulders and pulled him up, turning the other man to face him. His eyes were like burning coal underneath the blanket of blood and Renfield recoiled.

“Wah dih oo do?” he asked, pointing over at the bloody flesh mound. “Whay?”

The Count didn't answer him, just reached out and put two fingers on Renfield's lower lip. Then he pushed the other man's mouth open and sighed, shaking his head.

“My beloved Renfield,” he began, “I thought it would be obvious that you should not try to lick knives.”

Renfield's eyes widened. “Oo killeh uh.” His tongue was so clumsy now – he spat at the sidewalk.

Dracula patted his shoulder. “Renfield, I cannot understand you right now. Talk to me once your tongue has healed in a day or two, all right?” With that, he looked back at the headless body on the pavement and held out his undamaged hand to Renfield. “Shall we?”

“Wah?”

“The fiend is dead now, beloved.” He took Renfield's hand and pulled him over. “It would be a shame to let all this blood go to waste.”

Renfield stared at the Count and watched as he bent down and began to drink up blood from a puddle. It ran down his chin and slid along his neck; Dracula swallowed. At that, Renfield hissed, shoving him aside and plunging down into the crimson liquid.

Dracula chuckled softly to himself and lowered his head, nuzzling at Renfield's jawline. Renfield pulled away from his drink and glanced over at him.

Dracula wet his lips and kissed tauntingly close to Renfield's mouth; Renfield shivered, grabbing at the Count's face and gnawing on his lips. His teeth were screaming in pain but he bit harder. Dracula smiled, lightly pushing him away.

“At the end, beloved.” The Count licked his lips.

“Whay dit yeh kill hih?” Renfield wondered dreamily, suddenly finding it hard to focus as pleasure reverberated down in his throat.

“Why did I kill him?” Dracula asked. Renfield nodded, picking up the lifeless arm and digging his teeth into the wrist. The Count shrugged and licked his fingers.

“He annoyed me,” he replied, crouching back down. “He ought to have been more wary.”

Renfield lowered the wrist and stared; Dracula blinked at him, then smiled and reached over, kissing Renfield's cheek. His beard tickled the other man's chin and Renfield tensed, the happiness zapping out and all through his body from the spot where Dracula kissed him becoming cold - it hung suspended in his veins, neither going forward nor back.

Dracula didn't seem to notice any change in Renfield's behavior, just went back to the body, purring to himself now and then. Renfield looked down at the Count, then at the torn-open wrist. Saltiness wafted up and he bent down, wrapping his mouth over the blue veins.

But the blood had become bitter.


	5. Chapter 5

**_June 3rd, 2050_ **

Van Helsing's face was grim and pale, almost as if he'd seen a ghost. Concerned, Mina turned away from Johnathon and the two of them stared at the old man, waiting.

Van Helsing glanced over at Lucy, then glowered at the vampiress for a moment. He looked down at the book in his hands and slid out a sketch from in-between the pages.

“This,” he said, pointing at the sketch, “is a very ancient symbol.”

The vampiress put her face into her hands and began to mutter petulantly to herself, her words indiscernible and quiet. Mina shot her a piteous look.

“I now know the chaos that undermines our lives,” Van Helsing continued. He looked at the vampiress. “But perhaps I should not be the one to say what it is. Maybe this _thing_ should stop hissing at us and answer our questions!”

He pulled out a crucifix and the vampiress recoiled, shrieking and pinning herself back against the wall. “Stop!” she begged. “It hurts me! Please, I beg you, stop!”

“Tell them about Tzepes, fiend!” Van Helsing hissed. But the thing shook her head, covering her eyes with her hands and shaking her head.

“I swore not to,” she muttered. She pulled her hands away from her face and everyone saw that her eyes were red. “I swore by the Dragon!” She fiddled with the dragon claw ring on her middle finger. “By the Dragon...”

“Yes, the Dragon!” Van Helsing mocked. “Like the one in this sketch we forced out of you!” He waved the paper in her face and she turned away, crouching down and wrapping her arms around her legs.

“Please let me go,” she whispered. Then she turned, glaring at the cross. “Let me tell dearest Maeva and Lurlene I'm all right, at the very least!”

Van Helsing made an exasperated noise and turned away, much to the vampiress's obvious relief.

“Polyamorous lesbianism to boot,” he muttered; “sick, perverted life.”

Lucy came forward and took her father's arm. “Father,” she began, “since the vampire won't tell us, why don't you?” She plucked the sketch out of his grasp. “What does this 'Dragon' mean?”

Van Helsing shook his head, sitting back. “It's the symbol of the Dracul order.”

“ 'Dracul'?” Mina repeated.

Johnathon took her hand and squeezed. “Like the...” He glanced over the vampiress and it seemed as though her face had lost what little trace of blood it had left. “The vampire?”

Van Helsing flipped open his book and turned it around, pointing at the page. “The Son of the Dragon,” he said sadly. “Dracula. He is real.”

At that, the vampiress exploded. She screamed and lunged at Van Helsing, who accidentally dropped his crucifix in shock.

“You horrible fool!” she cried, clawing at his face with her fingernails. “Do you have any idea what you've done? _Do you?”_

Johnathon and Mina came forward and started pulling on the thing's arms, trying to yank her away. Lucy reached down for her father, simultaneously trying to pull him back. The vampiress was strong, however, and she was a woman scorned.

“He'll destroy them!” she shrieked. “He's absolutely mad, totally insane, he'll destroy them without any pity if he thinks I betrayed him! He'll destroy them! Destroy them!”

Lucy fumblingly reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her crucifix. This caused the vampiress to shriek like a monster and fling herself back, making Johnathon fall backwards. Mina reached down and pulled Van Helsing off the floor while Lucy backed the demon into the corner again. Johnathon stood up, reaching over for the container of salt; he made a semi-circle around the vampiress and Lucy took a deep breath, lowering the cross.

The thing looked at them, then wrapped her arms around her legs again and bowed her head to her knees. “They're all I have in the world,” she muttered. "All I have since he did this to us..."

Mina turned to Van Heling; “Are you all right?” The old man rubbed at his face, then shook his head.

“Vlad Tzepes,” he said. “Count Dracula.” He looked down at his book again. “He seeks the reincarnation of his wife, Elhemina, who disappeared five centuries ago.”

Johnathon's eyes widened and Mina blinked, straightening up and stepping away.

“Mina?” Lucy asked. “Father, do you mean Mina?”

“Yes.” Van Helsing closed his book and paused. “Yes.” He looked over at Mina. “You, Elhemina.”

Mina drew in a breath and shook her head, sinking back into a seat. “Me,” she breathed. Johnathon rushed to her side and took her hand, petting her hair down and kissing her fingers.

“What are we going to do?” Lucy asked. Van Helsing glanced over at her and shrugged; Mina looked at the vampiress.

“Well,” Johnathon began slowly, “we need to find Renfield and see what happened to him.”

“And if he's a _vampire?”_ Van Helsing hissed. Johnathon blinked at him, frowning deeper.

It was Mina who spoke: “We give him the peace he deserves.”

“That's right, Father,” Lucy agreed, stepping over to the old man's side. “No one deserves that sort of eternal suffering, least of all Renfield.”

“But let's hope that Renfield is still human,” Johnathon interjected. He wrapped an arm around Mina and she rested her head on his shoulder. “And not mortally wounded.”

They were quiet until Johnathon added: “And if this Count Wallachia is indeed the vampire as we fear, then we'll give the heartless being the same treatment that we would were he Renfield.”

The vampiress moaned and wiped the blood off her cheeks.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vlad the Impaler and Muslims gets rather racist and I apologize in advance. Also, rape (attempt) TW.

_**June 10th, 2050** _

Radu had been a young, beautiful child, small and graceful and perfect. If there was one thing to be sure of, it was that you would fall deeply, madly in love with Radu the Handsome.

Dracula had hated him. How could Radu, the baby of the family, be so charming? What made him so special, he was just a whiny little brat with a soft deposition and moonlike eyes; he didn't have anything  _important,_  like brains or military strategy or anything like that. He was just a pretty face - not at all like Vlad Dracula, the gangly, furious older brother everyone in the Sultan's court agreed had an attitude problem.

The servants had come in, muttering something how Radu was up in a tree. He refused to come down, Dracula thought they said: he couldn't be sure because he never really did learn to speak Turkish. However, he'd caught a few words that directed him out to the tree in the back courtyard.

Radu was indeed up in the tree, his arms wrapped around his legs and face buried in his knees. Dracula could hear him crying and he scoffed, grabbing a branch and climbing up.

"What is the problem with you?" Dracula hissed, swatting the boy's shoulder.

Radu looked up, beautiful eyes red and tearstricken; he choked out some words, a mix of Romanian and Turkish and a few words of what Dracula thought was Latin.

"Talk like a human being," Dracula grumbled. Then he sneered, groaning under his breath. "What are you doing up here, Radu?"

"Mehmed," Radu choked out, covering his eyes with his hands. "Mehmed, Mehmed, Mehmed..." He shuddered.

Mehmed - later Mehmed the Conqueror - was also a spoiled little brat, at least according to Vlad Tzepes. The young Dracula rolled his eyes at Radu, leaning back against the trunk of the tree.

"Well?" he wondered. "What about the damn Sultan's precious Mehmed?"

Radu's eyes widened and he clung harder to the tree. "Do not speak so, brother! They shall kill you!"

"It would be better than this imprisonment," Dracula mumbled under his breath. He was about to say more, maybe repeat the statement so the weak, spineless Radu could hear, but just then, his younger brother started full-on bawling like a baby.

"Vlad, he is going to kill me!"

"Who?"  _Me?_  Dracula was sorely tempted to.

Radu looked away. "Mehmed...anyone!... I am going to be killed for what I have done, brother Vlad."

"Good riddance and good luck, I say."

Radu whirled back to Dracula, face fallen. Then he shook his head, grabbing his hair and trying to tear it out of his beautiful skull. He stammered, "He-He-He was drunk, Vlad! Oh, Vlad, he kept coming for me with this awful look on his face, and-and then he, well, he, Vlad! Vlad, I am so terribly sorry...may the gods forgive me...Allah and Our Lord... Oh!"

Dracula rolled his eyes; Radu had always been melodramatic.

A mere whisper: "He was touching me, Vlad. He was going to...to...to rape me." Radu cried harder. "But I refused to let him! I cut him in the leg with a sword and escaped and now I'm here and now  _I am going to die."_  He fell forward, wrapping his arms tighter around the tree branch. "They are going to kill me."

Dracula looked at Radu - he looked at him long and hard. Then, gagging, he began to climb down the tree.

"Vlad!" Radu screeched. "Brother Vlad, wait! Where are you going?"

Dracula landed on the ground and turned back to the tree, looking up at Radu the Handsome's wide-eyed, heart-shaped face emanating with virginity and pure holiness.

Dracula put his hands on his hips and sneered. "Away from  _you,_ the filth!"

"Vlad!" Radu cried.

"You disgust me, Radu, and you have always done so." Dracula tugged at his hair. "I am very thankful that I now have a legitimate reason to hate you."

Radu gaped at him, holding his face in his hands. He couldn't breathe and was whimpering like a dog - what a show. For a young man, Radu was quite a charming actor, and it would have been admirable in different circumstances.

One of the servants came up and shouted something up to Radu, gesturing down. But Radu refused to move an inch for the rest of the night, and Dracula always remembered falling asleep to the sounds of his younger brother's distress and feeling nothing but loathing contempt.

Years later, during the war, Vlad Dracula left a present for the equivalent of his brother-in-law, the good old Mehmed the Conqueror. There was nothing Dracula regretted more in his life and death than not having been able to see Mehmed's face at the sight of the Forest of the Impaled, a large field of victims sodomized by stakes, with birds resting in nests located in skulls and mothers' breasts. Dracula had always imagined that it had been quite a sight to witness, old Mehmed with the impaled. Perhaps a gleam of flashback? Of memory? Thoughts back to his lover Radu at home and what he had done to corrupt him...? Such was how Dracula imagined the scene.

The two remaining sons of Vlad Dracul met later on in life, in 1466, in battle. Radu was still beautiful and Dracula still hated him more than he could even comprehend. Their swords clanged together, Dracula's cape flew; Radu had gained upper body and arm strength in their years apart and he managed to force Dracula backwards, almost to the ground. Dracula narrowed his eyes and dodged a lethal blow, swinging his sword around and knocking Radu off his feet.

Dracula bent over the supine body of his brother, pulling a dagger out of his belt and clutching it tightly. Radu blinked up at him and shook like a leaf.

"Still a coward, are you, Radu?" Dracula quirked his mouth up into a sardonic smile.

Radu flickered his gaze down to the dagger at his throat, then swallowed delicately. "I shall stop you," he muttered. "You must be stopped, you are a madman!"

Dracula scowled and spat at his brother's face. "I am doing what I must for my country - something I note you have given up on,  _Radu."_

Radu squirmed and grabbed at the grass. "I am what I am, brother Vlad, and 'tis nothing I am ashamed of."

Dracula's grip on the dagger tightened. "You are a traitor and a disgrace," he muttered. "Nothing but the Sutlan's lapdog and eager puppet.  _Infidel."_

With a final act of defiance, Radu the Handsome looked up at Vlad the Impaler and drew in a deep breath. "If you hate me so much," he said quietly, "then why have you not killed me?"

Dracula twitched and his hand began to shake. He swallowed, blinked, and hesitated; Radu's arm moved slightly as he reached for his sword.

Dracula slit his throat.

 _Blood._  It was so red and sticky and unstoppable the way it poured out everywhere, spilling onto Dracula's boots and staining them crimson. The Prince of Wallachia growled under his breath and slid his sword back out. Closing his eyes and sending up a quick prayer, he swiped away Radu's head with a single clean blow. Then stood up, fingers clenched tightly in the curled black locks of his brother's dissevered head.

+++

Renfield slammed open the bathroom door and Dracula jumped, whirling away from the window and looking back at him. Renfield had his shirts bunched up in front of his chest and his belt was undone, hair already wet from the bath; the Count blinked at him.

"Vlad, where are the towels?"

"Towels?" Dracula chimed.

"Yeah, the towels - I have two, but they're gone." Renfield pursed his lips. "Vlad, are you okay?"

"Oh, yes," Dracula mumbled, nodding. "I am absolutely fine, Renfield, beloved..."

"Then come help me find a towel." Renfield shut the door, and when he opened it again, he had a shirt on and was doing up his belt.

The Count regarded him for a moment, then leaned back against the sink, twitching. Renfield called his name and came over to him.

"Vlad?" he asked softly. "Vlad, are you feeling okay? You look terrible - did you eat something? I thought you said that vampires weren't supposed to eat anything-"

Dracula smiled a little, shaking his head. He brushed some hair out of his eyes; "Renfield, have you ever done something you...you very deeply regret?"

Renfield made a face. "What the fuck, Vlad, of course I have. Pretty much everything important in my life is something I regret."

Dracula looked at him out of the corner of his eye, then quickly turned away. He remembered the conversation with Renfield - the one about the gender thing - and the hair on the back of his neck stood up in distaste and discomfort. But he pushed that out of his mind, ignoring it for the time being.

"It's a part of being human, Vlad," Renfield added; he bent down and opened the sink cabinet door, sticking his head in and muttering about the towels.

Dracula shrugged and turned away. "I have not been a human in centuries, but only now do I regret my actions."

"Well, good for you, Vlad," Renfield replied from under the sink.

Dracula looked down at Renfield and huffed; "Renfield, are you listening to me?"

Renfield backed out from the cabinet, holding a grimy yellow towel in his hands. "Yes, Vlad - I'm just trying to find a towel because I left the water running."

"Oh." The Count paused and though about what to say. "Well, could you please regard me while I speak to you?"

Renfield stood up and looked down at Dracula over the bridge of his nose; the Count blinked at him profoundly, then hung his head and went down onto the ground. Renfield's arm sagged in what was no doubt exasperation.

Dracula rubbed at his eyes. "I killed my brother, Renfield." He closed his eyes. "I have destroyed a small angel."

Renfield shifted from foot-to-foot for the greatest, longest moment, staring down at Dracula in silence. Then he turned and went into the bathroom, closing the door behind him. Dracula heard the water run harder and Renfield shriek a little as the purity hurt his vampire soul, and the Count sighed quietly to himself. He went over to the old pull-out mattress thing, laid down, and pulled the blankets over his head.

Killing Radu had made sense at the time. He had been a threat to Wallachia, and it had been necessary; he was going to take Dracula's throne away and give it to the enemies, the Ottomans, after the Prince had spent so many years and taken so many lives to bring the country back to its glory. He was purging the world of an infidel and a disgrace and someone worthy of a million impalements.

But he had been wrong.

Count Dracula had been wrong.

Radu may have been a terrible and annoying little brat, but that was no reason for him to be murdered. Life had worked against him and brought him forth to an evil pervert and rapist who had chosen him as a victim, and Dracula had blamed the child for it like the monstrous madman he was. In fact, if anyone was an infidel and a disgrace and someone worthy of a million impalements, it was Vlad Dracula.

Yes, he had been so very wrong.

Renfield came out of the bathroom in a ratty bathrobe that only just barely covered him; Dracula watched as he started rifling through the dresser, looking for pajamas. There was water dripping down his angular chin and his hair clung to the back of his neck.

He was beautiful.

Feeling awkward as he did so, Dracula pushed the blankets away, got up, and went over to Renfield. He reached into the drawer and pulled out a pair of sweatpants and a ripped-up tank top, holding them out to the other...he took a deep breath... _the other man..._

It had been strange at first, what Renfield had said, but maybe Dracula could get used to it - after all, nothing had changed... Maybe he was wrong about that, too. Maybe Renfield was telling the truth.

"Renfield," he began slowly. "Renfield, I was wrong."

Renfield nodded at him, eyes a little blank but his overall expression very closeted.

"I regret my actions," Dracula continued slowly, warmth filling his core and making him feel so genuinely happy inside.

"Okay, Vlad." Renfield took the clothes out of Dracula's arms and pecked him on the forehead; the Count smiled up at him and Renfield turned away.

The Count lowered his gaze, frowning.

He was trying.


	7. Chapter 7

**_July 8th, 2050_ **

Dracula reached around Renfield's neck, his cold fingers brushing lovingly against the bare skin; Renfield felt a chill run up his spine. Quietly, Dracula tied the knot and Renfield looked up from the laptop.

Dracula bent down and brushed Renfield's hair away, then pressed his lips to the patch of skin behind Renfield's ear. Renfield sighed and looked back down at the laptop.

The choker was black satin, with a ribbon cord-tie in the back. It was an inch thick and sported a metal ring pendant. Dracula had said he had found it when he went out the night before, when Renfield had been suffering from crippling nausea and hadn't been able to join him – Renfield had chosen not to ask for any of the details and had accepted the gift graciously.

“Renfield,” Dracula whispered. “Renfield, beloved, I thought that you said that Dr. Seward did not want you looking at those pictures.”

Renfield glanced over at him and saw that the other man was regarding him judgmentally. However, Renfield just shrugged at him and looked back down at the laptop. The “Lucy” folder was open in the photo viewer, and the current picture was of her sitting in church next to her father, with her hands clasped in prayer.

“He won't know,” Renfield said, clicking the “next” button.

Dracula was about to say something else when there was a knock on the door. The Count kissed Renfield again and pulled away; “He has arrived.” Renfield nodded, lowering the laptop screen so it was almost shut but not entirely, then stood up and walked over to the door.

Renfield had to admire Dr. Seward for being so...well, so innocently understanding. Of course he didn't know about Renfield's vampirific transformation, but upon learning that Renfield wouldn't be able to make his day appointments anymore, he asked no questions and arranged the appointments for six-thirty in the evening at Renfield's flat. No explanation, just a rescheduling – it was probably against the rules, too, now that Renfield thought about it. Actually, he didn't want to know why Seward done it and decided not to ask any questions.

When Dr. Seward saw Dracula, he smiled and held out a hand. “Good evening, sir! I'm Dr. John Seward – and you are...?”

Dracula glanced over at Renfield and the other man looked away. Dr. Seward suddenly smelled so damn _good,_ and he was just so _vulnerable-_ Renfield glanced back up and started to stare at the doctor's exposed neck.

Dracula took Seward's hand and shook it, subtly stepping in-between him and Renfield. “Count Wallachia Vlad,” he greeted.

Seward didn't even blink. “Well, again, good evening, Count Vlad.”

“It's Count Wallachia,” Dracula said. He let go of the man's hand and stepped over to Renfield's side. “Traditionally, in my country, a person's last name comes before the first.”

Dr. Seward tried to apologize for the blunder, but Dracula wouldn't hear of it. “You are not the first to make such an error,” he muttered, “and you shall certainly not be the last for the remainder of my time in your country.”

“Oh, are you leaving, my lord?”

Dracula smiled, glancing over at Renfield. “It is something currently under consideration.”

Renfield cleared his throat, stepping away and pulling Dr. Seward over to the bar. “Vl-Vlad was just leaving,” he stammered. “So we can be alone and...stuff.”

“No," Seward replied, "he can stay.” He looked away from the coffin on the kitchen floor, shook his head, and pulled out his tape recorder. “I was thinking I could talk to both of you two tonight...if that's all right, of course. You know, like we discussed, Renfield.”

“B-Both of us?” Renfield blurted; Dracula came over and took a seat blatantly close to him.

"That sounds perfectly fair, Doctor," the Count replied, smiling at Renfield. Renfield glanced over at him, then looked back at Seward, swallowing. There was a loud buzzing in his ears and he couldn't breathe.

“But," Dracula wondered, "if I may be so bold as to ask, whatever for?”

Seward looked over at Renfield and the man lowered his gaze down to the table.

“I, um.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I told him about the two of us. That we're, um...” He flopped his hands into clasping, trying to convey their relationship without the kidnapping and vampire angles. Dracula narrowed his eyes and cleared his throat. He brushed his hair out of his face.

“I see,” he said.

“It's entirely in confidence, I assure you,” Seward explained. “Everything Renfield has said to me shall remain between him and myself, unless he says otherwi-”

“He knows I'm trans,” Renfield muttered; he didn't know whether he was speaking to the doctor or the vampire. Whomever, Renfield looked down at the bar and picked at his rings, waiting for Dracula to make his fleeting upset face before resuming his former, more stoic look. Only when that was done did Renfield raise his gaze.

“Good, very good,” Seward replied. Then, to Dracula: “How did you respond to this?”

The Count was caught off-guard. “What?”

“I said, how did you respond to this?”

Dracula made an annoyed facial expression. “Fine.”

“Really? No arguments, no confusion? Just 'fine'?”

Renfield glared at Dracula and the Count recoiled a bit. “I... I was surprised,” he added meekly.

“Have you been supporting Renfield?”

“Of course I have!” He said it in a loud voice – he louder than was necessary; Renfield winced, pulling his hood over his head and staring at the bartop.

“Renfield and I were talking about the possibility of having him go through a formal transition,” Seward said.

Dracula looked over at Renfield with a confusing face. “Formal transition?” he repeated.

Renfield cringed. _Shut up, Seward,_  he thought, _I can't do it anymore, I_ can'tcan'tcan't _do it anymore, I'm sorry._ He wanted to puke up all his body organs again.

Dr. Seward smiled. “Renfield, would you like me to go on, or stop?”

Renfield's voice fucking cracked again and he sounded like a _girl._ “Sto-op.”

Dracula made a satisfied grunt, groaned quietly to himself, then stood up. “Dr. Seward, would you like some tea?”

“I-I-I don't have-have any,” Renfield reminded him. Dracula huffed and flopped his hands down to his side.

“Fine then.” He took a seat again, this time with much less urgency. He scooted the bar stool a couple inches away and refused to make eye contact with Renfield, who sighed quietly to himself and tapped his fingers on the bar. _Breathe,_  he told himself.

“Count Wallachia," Seward began, "could you describe your temper for me?”

Dracula started and narrowed his eyes at the doctor. “I frankly do not see how that is any of your damn business.”

Seward crossed one leg over the other and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the bar. “Please humor me.”

Renfield began to rub at his elbow and jiggled his foot, focusing on an image of Lucy smiling, happy and secure with life – wait, he wasn't supposed to do that. Dr. Seward had said that he was supposed to think about something else whenever he thought about Lucy. Not that Renfield was doing that, but whatever; he tried to focus on not lunging forward and digging his teeth into the doctor's neck and also not thinking about the bloody testosterone.

“It is a normal temper,” Dracula replied, teeth clenched.

“Count Wallachia, I don't mean to be rude, but I think you're lying to me.”

“And _I_  think you need to keep out of matters that do not concern you!”

With that, Dracula stood up and the stool toppled backwards, onto the floor. He shot Renfield a wretched look, then glowered at Seward and stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door shut behind him.

Renfield sighed, lying down on the bar and closing his eyes. “He's old-fashioned,” he mumbled for no reason, “and he doesn't like what he doesn't understand. You could call him thickheaded.”

“Does he understand your gender?”

Renfield winced, then shrugged. “He says he does, but...I-I-I'm not sure I believe him. I dunno. I think he's only doing it to make me happy.” He swallowed, choking. “He-He doesn't _understand,_ and-and I'm too sc-scared to really explain.”

Seward regarded him for a moment. Then: Renfield..." He hesitated. "Renfield, I don't mean to sound presumptuous, but... Have you ever considered ending the relationship? It's just... It doesn't seem particularly balanced-”

Renfield interrupted the doctor with a laugh; he hid his mouth behind his hand and studied the faint lines on his palms. Seward suddenly smelled so _good_ – no, he had to wait. He and Dracula were going out afterwards, so no feasting yet. Not Seward.

“Yes,” he admitted quietly; “a few times. He's really a huge dick in the long run..." He choked on a laugh. "In more ways than one... But there's something about him...” He drifted off, shaking his head. “I can't get away," he settled for. "Something... _happened_...and now we're sort of stuck with each other for a while, at least till things settle down.”

Dr. Seward was quiet. This gave Renfield the time to start gnawing at his inner cheek. He found himself wishing he could go back to thinking about Lucy without any guilt clawing at his empty shell.

“Renfield,” Seward began, “answer me honestly for the record – is he abusing you?”

Renfield started at the question. “No!” he protested. “Of c-c-course he isn't! He may have a temper and be a selfish prat, but he'd nev-never hurt me. He's said so himself!” _He's said he'd never hurt you_ on purpose _, you mean,_ a voice in Renfield's head added. He told the voice to shut up and to go to hell.

“There is more abuse than physical abuse, Renfield. Tell me, does he make you feel worthless and insecure?”

“No!”

“Are you scared of him?”

“No! ...Not really...” Renfield groaned under his breath.

“What makes you scared of him?” Seward wondered.

Renfield ran his fingers through his hair, remembering the man's screaming before Dracula had torn his head off without mercy. “He can be very scary when he wants to be.”

“How so?”

“I can't say.”

“Renfield-”

“I can't say!” Renfield repeated. He pulled his hands over his mouth and growled quietly. “That sounds terrible, doesn't it? But I swear to you, it's only-”

He was cut off by a frantic knocking at the door. He stood up, glanced over at Dr. Seward, then hurried around the bar and the pull-out bed. He opened the door and saw Dracula on the other side – his eyes were wild with fear as he reached out for Renfield and grabbed his arm, pulling him close.

“We have to go!” the Count hissed into his ear.

“What?” Renfield whispered. “But my, uh, therapist...” Renfield jerked his head over to Seward - the doctor was sitting at the bar and waiting, tapping his foot irritably to pass the time.

“This is serious,” Dracula replied. He looked over Renfield's shoulder and added: “They have come.”

“ 'They'?” Renfield repeated. He was confused; Dracula sighed and pushed him inside, locking the door behind them.

“Johnathon Harker and the others,” the Count muttered. “They are downstairs, about to come up. They...” He paused. “They were arguing about Elhemina. We need to get out of here!”

Panic rose up in Renfield's throat and he turned back to Seward; the doctor stood up.

“Renfield?” he asked. "Renfield, is something the matter?"

Renfield grabbed Dracula's hand and pulled him over towards the kitchen.

“We-We have to go, Dr. Seward. I'm so-so-sorry.” He reached over for the window and began to work at the latch.

“No, Renfield, not until we're finished with this session.” Seward started forward, but then Dracula lunged forward and grabbed his neck.

 _“You_ need to learn your place, Seward,” he spat. Seward gasped, grabbing at Dracula's hands and starting to splutter, his eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“Vlad!” Renfield reached out and wrapped his arms around Dracula's chest, trying to tug him away. Dracula let go of Seward and the doctor collapsed to his knees, holding his neck and hacking. Dracula shoved Renfield away and Renfield cried, falling back. He banged against the coffin and winced, his head swimming for a moment. He sat up.

Dracula looked down at him, shaking all over. “R-Renfield?” he stammered, getting onto his knees. He reached out for the other man, but Renfield recoiled and pressed himself back against a cupboard.

“Renfield, I-”

“Stay away,” Renfield muttered. “Stay away from me.”

“Renfield, beloved, please-”

“Just stay away, Vlad!” Renfield grabbed his inner elbow and began to scoot himself away. “You-You-You scare me when you're mad.” His voice was tight and small in his throat.

“But I am no longer angry, Renfield, I swear to God Himself.”

Renfield swallowed and rubbed at his elbow. “You were going to kill him.”

Dracula shook his head. “No, my beloved, I was...I was trying... I was _upset...”_

Renfield stood up, anything to get away. “You wanted him dead! Like-Like that man on the street! Like your brother!”

Dracula twitched. “No. Please. Listen-”

“You were going to kill him!” Renfield scrambled up onto the sink, pushing open the window. “You were going to kill him!”

Dracula crawled forward and grabbed Renfield's ankle; his face had fallen into dismay and pleading. “Renfield, please, they are coming-”

“Let go of me!” Renfield jerked his foot away and Dracula let go of him, sliding down onto the floor into a blob. Then Renfield turned and grabbed at the edge of the window, pulling himself out. But before he could get anything more than his upper body out into the cool air of the night, Dracula had grabbed his waist.

“I said let _go_ of me!”

“But you cannot go alone, Renfield,” Dracula protested. “They are coming, and I do not think that it would be wise for us to separate, not at this time-”

“Monster!” Renfield shrieked. “Monster, monster, monster!” He reached out for the fire escape balcony rail and began to pull. Dracula loosened his grip and Renfield tumbled out, bashing against the cold metal grate - it hurt and he winced.

Dracula didn't come out so bulkily: he was inside one moment, then crouched down next to Renfield the next. Renfield took one look at him and shook his head, trembling.

“Shh, shh, shh...” Dracula soothed, putting a hand on Renfield's wrist and squeezing.

“Go away.”

“But, Renfield, they are coming. We have to get away from here – from Elhemina... I have to protect you-”

Renfield heard someone banging on the door. The wood was cracking and groaning, and there were loud, cruel voices. The scent of blood was suddenly stronger now, and Renfield raised his gaze, looking over his shoulder.

“They smell so good,” he mumbled; Dracula pulled him up.

“We cannot stay, beloved,” he said. “They shall destroy us, I know it.” He wrapped an arm around Renfield, only to be pushed away.

“Would that really be so bad?” Renfield wondered softly. Dracula sighed exasperatedly and grabbed his hand; he hurried over to the edge of the balcony and climbed on top of the rail. Then he looked back at Renfield.

“Come on, my beloved – I shan't go without a fight.”

“That's not fighting, that's fleeing like a damn coward.” Renfield scoffed. “And the history books call you Vlad the Impaler. A _tyrant.”_

Dracula ignored these statements, just told Renfield to get onto the rail so he wouldn't get hurt.

“No, I-I...don't want to go with you like this. I...” Renfield looked back into the house, where Dr. Seward was still clutching at his throat and coughing. “Vlad...”

The Count grabbed his other hand and pulled him close. “Renfield, please – just let me get you to safety. Let us get away from Elhemina. Then-” His face became even more ashen and he looked down. He blinked repetitively, then looked back up at Renfield, avoiding eye contact. “Let me make you safe. Then, if it is what you desire...” He lowered his gaze again. “I will let you g-go-” Gasping for breath. “...you go...”

The entire world went completely quiet in the snap of a finger. The cars beeping and revving down the streets disappeared, and there was temporarily block of the sounds of the door giving away. Hell, maybe the world stopped spinning too, it was so quiet.

In the silence, Renfield blinked at Dracula, and the Count looked up slowly. His eyes were red and his grip was tight. Seemingly in slow-motion, Renfield glanced back and saw Seward pulling himself up. The door came down and there was Mina and Johnathon. The grip on his hand tightened, but Renfield barely noticed. Behind the couple, Van Helsing was arguing with Lucy. Strangely enough, one of those vampire women was there, too – the tall one that the other two had thought was dead. The vampiress was standing in the middle of them all, face pinched in pain.

But _Lucy._ Her fake blonde hair pulled back under her headpiece, her soft brown eyes. Lucy. She was so beautiful and she was twenty years old and she was naive. So naive. She threw her hands up into the air and turned. She saw Renfield, it seemed, and her eyes widened. Hope rose up inside him and he couldn't breathe for a moment. She reached into her coat. He leaned forward slowly and she pulled out a crucifix.

He gasped right as the vampiress screamed in pain. Something terrifyingly beyond his control was pounding on his body and he whirled back to Dracula; the Count said something Renfield couldn't hear or understand. Right then, he suddenly understood only one thing.

This was his existence now and he needed to save it.

Renfield nodded slowly, not even knowing anymore. “Okay,” he said. Dracula's face dissolved and Renfield climbed up onto the balcony rail. Behind them, Johnathon Harker was rushing at the window, armed with a wooden stake and with a garlic wreath bouncing against his chest. There was the loud ringing in Renfield's ears again, perhaps the replacement for a thundering heart.

Dracula let go of his right hand and tightened his grip on the other. Renfield glanced back at Johnathon. His friend was screaming at them - he wanted to save Renfield from vampirism.

But he was too late. They were all too late – too late for life, too late for testosterone, too late for a lot of things. And this was something Renfield was okay with, strangely; he looked back at the Count, all he really had left in the world, unless he rebuilt it all from scratch.

Before Dracula pulled Renfield away and the wind blew against their bodies, Renfield managed to say something. It was more of a whisper, really, but Johnathon stopped moving and stared at them, watching them fly away.

“I don't need help anymore.”


End file.
